


Our House

by swimmingwolf59



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, so much domestic fluff, south downs cottage shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 06:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingwolf59/pseuds/swimmingwolf59
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley move into the South Downs cottage after Armagedoff. Domestic chaos ensues.





	Our House

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing @gemennair_art ‘s beautiful [art](https://twitter.com/gemennair_art/status/1183832629113569280) on twitter drove me into an absolute obsession with our favorite old married couple’s domestic life, so here’s the result of my madness xD If you’d like to get even more domestic feels, listen to Crosby stills and nash’s [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKYjUn-SBcg), the inspiration for the title, on loop forever. Don’t think of our house by madness like I always do by accident lol. Enjoy!

They start moving in on a Thursday.

The cottage is in South Downs, far enough away from London that it’ll be difficult for their old bosses to find them. They had thought about just moving into one of the places they already owned, but Aziraphale had never felt fully comfortable in Crowley’s flat and Crowley was never fully able to carve out a space for himself in the bookshop, so they’d looked elsewhere. Funny enough, they had both found it separately: Aziraphale had handed Crowley the printed-out paper just as Crowley had handed him his phone, both with the same cottage displayed.

They bought it immediately.

The following days are full of packing and arranging and multiple trips in the Bentley. Aziraphale has to admit that he’s finding it a bit difficult to leave the bookshop. It’s been his home for almost fifty years after all, and he’d just gotten it back as a gift from Adam. But no place is truly home without Crowley, and Aziraphale’s looking forward to living with him, to admitting fully that this thing between them is a _thing_, to not having to worry about what Heaven thinks anymore.

And besides, the new cottage has a whole _library room_.

Still, it’s bittersweet when he hands over the keys to the new owner and stands on the curb, staring at the bookshop for the last time.

“Goodbye, old friend,” he whispers and shuts his eyes.

His moment is rudely interrupted by Crowley slamming the horn several times. “Hurry it up, angel, the plants can’t be cramped up like this for too long!”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes fondly, but turns away from the bookshop.

“You ruined my moment,” he huffs at Crowley as he slides into the passenger’s seat. Crowley hardly gives him time to get fully seated before tearing off down the street.

“Yeah, well, consider it payback for when you interrupted my moment with the Bentley,” Crowley huffs right back.

Sometimes Aziraphale can hardly believe that _this_ is the person he’s chosen to spend his life with.

He wouldn’t change a thing.

Happiness settles over him, peaceful and content. He places his hand over Crowley’s on the gear shift. “We’re going to be _living together_.”

“You can’t back out now,” Crowley says, rubbing his thumb over Aziraphale’s.

“I wouldn’t want to,” Aziraphale says. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“…As am I.”

Crowley would get mad at him if Aziraphale pointed out his sappy smile just then, so he kindly decides not to.

\--

“Aziraphale,” Crowley pants as he gracelessly plops the last box down on the living room floor and collapses onto it, “How on _Earth_ do you have this much stuff?”

“It’s only 6,000 years’ worth of books, my dear,” Aziraphale replies, staring at the boxes surrounding them and wishing he had done something useful like label ‘kitchen’ on one of them. Or that he had separated them by room at all.

“_Only_,” Crowley scoffs. “And not to mention your mugs—you used to live alone, why do you have so many _mugs_—your dusty old computer, your clothes—”

“You have just as many clothes as I do,” Aziraphale cuts in.

Crowley continues like he didn’t hear him. “—your pocket watch collection, your ratty couch, your set of instruments. Do you even know how to _play_ any of them?”

“I have a normal person’s amount of stuff – I think you simply just don’t have much of anything,” Aziraphale argues. “I mean, all you have are the plants, your wardrobe, your television, that chair, a couple of paintings, and whatever _that_ is.”

He gestures at the statue of the angel and demon ““fighting””.

Crowley flushes. “Yeah, and if you’d had the same amount of stuff, we’d be _done_ moving already!”

“Oh Crowley, what’s the fun of moving if it’s not painful and never-ending?” Aziraphale says cheerfully. “We’re trying to live the way humans do, remember?”

“I swear, you pick the _worst_ parts of being human to fixate on,” Crowley says, rolling his eyes, but stands up from his slump. “Alright, what should we unpack first?”

They manage to get through two boxes before giving up for the evening.

\--

It takes them a couple of weeks to fully move in. Most things are easy enough to unpack, as Aziraphale and Crowley are in full agreement about what should go where. The plants, for example, have their own room, as they should. They’re in the only room of the house that has full length windows, allowing them much more sun than they had ever gotten in Crowley’s old apartment. Recently, the plants seem to tremble with contentment instead of just fear. Aziraphale goes in occasionally and whispers words of encouragement and tells them how lovely they all are. He knows Crowley would discorporate him if he found out, so he only goes when the demon’s sleeping.

The kitchen is also easy, as is the bedroom. Aziraphale stands in the bathroom for a long time wondering if he should get anything to put in it. Neither he nor Crowley need to use it, but if they ever have human guests over they might find it strange that there’s absolutely nothing in the bathroom, not even a toothbrush. He decides it’s a bridge he’ll cross when he gets to it and leaves it be.

Actually, the only real room he and Crowley are in disagreement over is the living room.

Aziraphale frowns. “Crowley…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think it’s…a bit much?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

Aziraphale sighs – of course he doesn’t. They have a lovely living room, with a wide-open floor plan and windows that face the front yard. There’s an old, homey fireplace against one wall, Crowley’s flatscreen TV planted on another, and the last end is connected to the kitchen, where a bar counter is the only thing separating the two rooms. He likes that, even if Crowley’s in the living room and he’s in the kitchen, they’ll still be able to see each other, talk to each other, share that space at least.

The problem is that currently the living room is completely overtaken by Crowley’s throne-chair.

Realistically, Aziraphale knows he will be spending a majority of his time either in the library or in the kitchen. But still, they have a whole _house _– it’s the largest space Aziraphale has ever lived in, besides Heaven of course, and he’s looking forward to having all the space to roam around in. He wants to have somewhere where he can sit and drink tea or cocoa without worrying about spilling it on his books; he wants to be able to stoke the fire and have somewhere to relax with Crowley; he wants to have somewhere where they can entertain visitors, because that’s something he can _do_ now.

He doesn’t want to be discouraged from ever coming in here because there’s no room for him.

“Your chair takes up the whole space!” Aziraphale says, waving at it. “Can’t you place it against the wall, or something?”

“How am I supposed to glare menacingly around the room if it’s against the wall?” Crowley demands.

“What’s there to glare at?”

“You. Life. Anything really.”

Aziraphale huffs exasperatedly. “And wouldn’t it be easier to do that against the wall? You don’t have to watch your back, then.”

“Walls have ears – I’d _always _have to watch my back, then.”

Aziraphale sighs, frustrated. This is the first real argument they’ve had since they’d moved in together, and he doesn’t want it to become a huge _thing_. Especially since he’s half sure Crowley’s just doing this to irritate him. “…Fine. Can’t you just…move it to the side a little? So we can fit couches and lamps and the like?”

“…Fine.”

It takes about three days of work to get it arranged in a way that they’re both satisfied with. It still looks kind of awful when it’s done—Crowley’s dark themes clashing horribly against Aziraphale’s pastel ones—but, well, it suits them.

\--

Crowley had never dared to imagine what living with Aziraphale would be like.

He had always hoped that someday it would happen, them moving in together. He doesn’t need a bunch of stuff anyway, but if he’s being fully honest, the reason he’d never filled his living spaces with much is because he’d always been secretly hoping that Aziraphale would one day want to move in with him, and he wanted to have the space open. Now that they’re finally living together, in _their own house_, he can hardly believe it. Sometimes he wonders if he’s actually asleep.

But he doesn’t think his subconsciousness would’ve supplied him with such tiny details of living with Aziraphale. He knows him inside and out, has for centuries, but it had never occurred to him to imagine that Aziraphale would always be in the kitchen in the morning, reading the paper with a cup of hot tea and the radio quietly playing some classical tune. He hadn’t thought that Aziraphale would spend a chunk of time each night carefully brushing down whatever outfit he’d worn that day, making sure everything was pristine. He couldn’t possibly have dreamed how nice it would feel to go to bed with Aziraphale there next to him, reading not sleeping, how wonderful it felt to tangle up with him completely.

He remembers Heaven, and so he knows that this is something _way_ better.

He hadn’t thought he’d have any difficulties getting used to their new living arrangements. With how long they’ve known each other, he’d thought it’d be easy.

But he isn’t used to living with so much…_stuff. _In his old apartment, he could walk wherever he wanted without worrying about crashing into anything because there was nothing on the floor. But here, if he’s not careful he’ll go tumbling over a forgotten stack of books, or a cello, or a lamp. He can’t seem to get used to it, no matter how many times he stubs his toe on the same foot stool in the library.

“God_dammit_,” he hisses the millionth time it happens, hopping around on one foot as shearing pain shoots up the other.

“You shouldn’t say that, Crowley,” Aziraphale says from the rolling ladder he’s using to stock the highest shelves. He’s long since given up asking what all the noise is about.

The library is taking the longest out of all of the rooms for them—or mainly Aziraphale—to unpack. It’s probably because the library has more items in it than all of their other rooms combined; it’s amazing how many books Aziraphale has accumulated over the years. It’s no wonder the bookshop went up in flames so easily.

That’s a horrible thought, so Crowley grimaces and discards it.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m already assigned to Hell anyway.” Crowley sinks into their overly soft couch, nursing his foot, and watches Aziraphale sort his books by hand. “You could just miracle that stuff in place, you know.”

“It wouldn’t be the same,” Aziraphale says, as Crowley knew he would. He hums It’s a Kind of Magic as he goes.

Crowley shakes his head; Aziraphale is the only supernatural being he knows who enjoys doing things the long, tedious, human way.

He kind of loves him for it.

There are times when he thinks he can sit there and watch Aziraphale forever. Even something as mundane and boring as sorting books is somehow captivating when Aziraphale does it; there’s something about his precise, careful movements, his quiet happiness that seems to stretch into every corner of the room. Crowley feels this way a lot, has since he first met Aziraphale really. He loves watching Aziraphale take simple pleasure in life on Earth.

A little happy tingle shoots through him at the idea that he _will_ be able to watch him like this forever.

At the end of the day, Aziraphale collapses next to Crowley on the couch, angel mug full of hot cocoa. The books are finally all sorted, the last of the boxes unpacked. Everything’s arranged more or less the way they like them – Crowley’s sure eventually he’ll get some itch to rearrange everything and throw out half of his belongings, like he usually does. But for now, it’s prefect. They snuggle into each other, Crowley wrapping his arm around Aziraphale as Aziraphale places his hand on his thigh. Sitting there, warm and content and happy, it only really starts to sink in.

This is _their home_. It’s the first time Crowley has ever really been attached to a place, and he loves it already.

Six weeks after they bought the cottage, Crowley and Aziraphale are officially moved in.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is gonna be super lax, updated whenever I get inspiration, but I have a few chapters planned out at least, and you guys are free to request stuff you’d like to see! I strongly headcanon Aziraphale and Crowley as ace, though, so no nsfw please!  
Thanks for reading! Come obsess over good omens with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaoru_of_hakone) c:


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